


She Said No

by orphan_account



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: A bit of a fix-it story ..., Canon Compliant, Deckerstar - Freeform, Deckerstar for life, Done for the feel good feels, F/M, For the purpoe of this story Amenadiel has his wings back, Hemhorragic shock thoughts, Hope you can understand what the hell I'm typing, Kind of ramble, Near Death, Not Beta Read, Not much structure, Roll with me here, Tried to play canon, Wing destruction, nonsensical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 12:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14355231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Post 3x22 (speculation). Chloe rejects Pierce's engagement after being his fiancé for a week. A scorned Lieutenant counters by leading the devil and his partner into a trap.





	She Said No

**Author's Note:**

> Um ... Dunno what I was thinking when I wrote this. It was going to be more immaculate. Didn't work that way.

_She said no_.  
  
It's a euphoric helium balloon rising into his bubbling chest. Higher elevation. A massive, glistening supernova canvassing a charred, dusty wasteland.  
  
His first thought, etched into a monument somewhere in his subconscious, when the pistol unloads beside his head. Ringing in his ears, made thousands of times worse by the dozens of aching, pouring wounds dug into his back, his neck, his hips. White wings gone crimson - crumpled, shredded - limp and broken and angular, draped listlessly on linoleum patched with broken porcelain and empty shell casings.  
  
**In hindsight, he should have known it was a trap.**

 _She said no._  
  
A gurgling groan. A heavy, sliding _THUMP_ somewhere behind him.  
  
_Click click click_ next to his temple. A weapon as expended of ammunition as he was from energy. Delicate fingers loosen. Metal drops. It clatters with the porcelain and shell casings, as inanimate and useless as the rest of them.  
  
Fingers on his chest. His shoulders. His face. They cup his chin, lift it up. Worried noises - a soft murmuring. Female. Soft. _Familiar_.  
  
**Foolish to allow this danger to her in the first place.  
**   
_She said no._  
  
Warm breath passes along the bridge of his nose. Lucifer struggles to open his eyes. Blurry shapes - something blond and blue and _blackened edges - hard to breathe_ -  
  
" ... ucif ... "  
  
It's not apparent that he's lost the strength to remain upright on his own until the petite - _perfect beautiful_ \- form shifts beneath him. Pliability fails. Lucifer pitches forward. The figure catches him.  
  
**Should have ended him sooner. You knew the Mark was gone.  
**   
_She said no._  
  
" Lu ... fer, stay w ... me ... "  
  
Should have known the _scorned lover_ would do something like this. Should have seen past the _rose-colored glasses_ , burst that blunderous bubble the inflated his ribs, lifted him off his feet.

 **Why did you ever doubt her in the first place?  
**   
Of course she would know better than to ... than to ...   
  
_Marry_ the putrid weasel?  
  
_She said no._  
  
Of course, she initially said yes. And there was much rejoicing and celebration at the police precinct and claps on the back wishing her a happy _future_ with her _husband-to-be_ and - and -  
  
_\- and blinded, fuzzy nights of drugs and liquor and meaningless sex, of thorough attempts to cleanse his memory of their friendship, their partnership, any chance of anything more ... agony clawing through the soft tissue of his brain, his eyes, his_ **every fiber of his being** and he **finally** understood what it meant to hurt her with Candy -

\- and fake smiles in her presence, mental absence on their cases, laughing at the absurdity of her confusion at his antics. Manic. Depressive. Manic. Depressive. Manic. Manic. _MANIC_.  
  
And then, a week into her engagement ... static. A dead end. Lucifer never did find out the whole story. He never dared to pry. But there was a sudden conviction in Chloe's face and a sourness in Marcus'/Cain's. And then there was Beatrice, the little devious spawn, with a twinkle of something _extra_ in her eyes.  
  
He was being laid on his back now. _Was_ , at least, until his lungs simply _could not stand_ the idea of it and rebelled - violently - as he had before being tossed from the Silver City. Spasms in his throat. Wretched hacking coughs polluted by something metal-tasting. Then he's yanked back up, apologies being whispered (yelled?) ... and dainty, strong arms lace around his body. Heated, against the growing cold forming at his core. Feeling, versus the numbness that started at his wings and worked their way in.  
  
Absolute exhaustion. Eyes like brick. Lids drooping, sluggish ... then _shaken_ , rough enough to jostle - "Don't ... all ... sleep ... "  
  
**At least the wings served a purpose.  
**   
_She said no_.  
  
Cain had steered clear of them. A good thing, considering Lucifer was bound to laugh hysterically into his face, handsome features twisted into a triumphant sneer. _But part of him was unsettled_ \- disturbed that Cain wouldn't make some kind of a jab at him. A bitter comment. A hissing threat. None of the above came.  
  
Instead, it was a case. Something that felt off, leading to a sting in a 'museum' that turned out to be the private artistic collection of a very large, _very violent_ crime family ... conveniently paid off, it would turn out, by none other than the lieutenant himself.  
  
Lucifer had taken one look at the automatic weapons pinpointed in their direction -

\- and hurled himself at Chloe, wings cocooning around the both of them as the shooting started.  
  
A good dozen rounds burrowed into him before the barrage tapered off. There were murmurings, whispers ... then silence, broken only by soft footfalls of quietly retreating criminals who had no idea what the hell they had just witnessed.  
  
Alone. Maybe. Criminals gone - that would probably become a problem later. The detective safe in his arms - still, terrified? one more issue to tackle if he wasn't going to get shipped off to Hell _which would be just like Dear Old Dad to condemn him there rather than_ -  
  
But then there was Marcus/Cain. Drawing near. Goading them ... Insulting Lucifer, belittling Chloe ( _and a fire roared to life in him - he would have ripped the bastard's throat out if he could **only move**_ ).  
  
Chloe's voice was even. Hardened. Ominous. "Drop the gun, lieutenant." Resolute ... if a bit shaken in the face of surprising predicaments. He was impr - did she say gun?  
  
Lucifer's wings faltered, spent and crumpling. He wheezed. Pink sputum dribbled from the corners of his mouth.  
  
The detective tensed - he could feel the little muscles in her arms and legs tighten - and raised an arm. Rested it on his shoulder. Clicked her gun to the ready, in response to the louder cocking of a weapon behind him and _who was he pointing at, was he going to try to kill Chloe? Had to move, had to get her out, how to get her out -_  
  
\- the gun resting on his shoulder explodes with his eardrums. Through the ringing in his senses, Lucifer could hear the _THUMP_ of a body on the ground -  
  
Wrapped tightly in Chloe's arms, Lucifer doesn't need to look to know that Cain is laid to rest. His detective has eliminated the threat. Chloe Decker - the immortal slayer. Partner to the Devil himself. It's an alliance straight out of Hell. He would be swelling with pride (and ironic humor) if he wasn't currently _dying_.  
  
He doesn't feel much. What's left of his vision is hastily pulling away from him. Darkened edges swallow light whole. Lucifer can still see the blond curls of his comrade, of his ... his ... _something_ (weakness, miracle, lover to be?) Breathing is already nigh-impossible, so her squeezing isn't doing any more harm. Her cheek rests against his - and Lucifer's body surprises him by allowing a _sigh_ of contentment.  
  
"... so ... stu ... "  
  
_No_. He focuses. Listens. It takes a painstaking amount of focus. _And it's the least he can do, to listen to what she has to say. Especially if he's actually dying. Especially after what he's done to her_ -  
  
"I ... was so stupid ... "  
  
Something like chagrin laced with regret rises in his throat like bile. Speech is hindered by blockage. He wants so much to tell her that she's no fool. That she's deliciously endearing and brilliant and hawk-eyed and -  
  
There's a rush of air, the flapping of wings. Almost instantaneously, Lucifer is pulled off the ground, cradled in arms several times larger than his. There's a musk about his ' _savior'_ that reeks of his brother, further confirmed when the darker angel speaks.  
  
He doesn't make out much of their conversation, but gets the gist of it. Amenadiel is informing Chloe that Lucifer will recover when they're not near each other. Her tone is all about confusion. Then belligerence. Then surrender.  
  
And finally - _finally_ Lucifer can move. His neck twists one way. Blinking pain and _death_ from his eyes, he can just make out Cain's wretched, bloody outline - _and good riddance to you_ \- then swallows several times, attempting to find Chloe.  
  
His gut wrenches.  
  
He knows fear when he sees it.  
  
She is absolutely dumfounded. Awestruck. _Terrified_. And though he would never, _ever_ regret revealing himself in order to save her, he wishes ... that somehow, some way, he had done it _before all of this_ , and worked through it, or ... or ...  
  
"Ch - c - " Sounds, forced air through his maw. It's the only speech he can make. Lucifer is too tired to make the right motions with his lips. Too weak to reach for her. But his eyes contort into something against his wish and suddenly the detective is taking the initiative.  
  
He can't tell what she saw in his face at that moment, but instantaneously she's crossing the floor.  
  
And it wasn't fear _of_ him that Lucifer saw.  
  
It was fear _for_ him.  
  
Warm hands on his face.  
  
Their noses draw close. He (selfishly?) aches for a kiss, but will settle for the forehead touch she offers. It draws back memories: crashing waves, salty air, soft lips on his centuries-old ones.  
  
And now it's her turn to fall speechless. He can see the gears turning in her head and her perfect lips split apart to spill some culmination of nouns and vowels, but all that erupts is a soft mewl that evaporates.  
  
But it makes him smile. And she smiles back.  
  
She's in shock, psychologically. And so is he, _physically_. But there's a promise there, somewhere. A ray of hope. Sunshine through the night. A very _real **something**_ he grabs onto like his life depends on it when Amenadiel brings him home.  
  
\----  
  
Three days and a silent phone later, Lucifer is contemplating leaving town again. The detective has been a no show, and he's about figured that she must have turned tail and run.  
  
The daggers in his chest root deep and twist.  
  
He's just about to board his elevator to leave for some other place ... he's heard Australia is nice ... when the doors _ding_ open to reveal a cleaned, bright-eyed, _hopeful_ Chloe Decker - the Immortal Slayer - with two very large cups of coffee and a box of some sweet-smelling treats.  
  
Elation immediately dispels his doubt.  
  
"I hope you're a fan of scones."  



End file.
